


Everyone is Alone

by AmethystFaerieDragon



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coping, Denial, Gen, Isolation, Loss, Post-Canon, Sadness, Sole Survivor, oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29403786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmethystFaerieDragon/pseuds/AmethystFaerieDragon
Summary: Short sole survivor post canon one shots for each of the seven protagonists who could survive till dawn (Josh not included sorry).The title is bad, please don't let it put you off :)All finished now!Chapters By Order of Characters: Sam, Jessica, Chris, Matt, Emily, Ashley and Mike.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	1. Mountains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter named after the Message To Bears song 'Mountains'.

Sam loves the quiet, away from the hustle and bustle of society. Every sound is a struggle but it’s worth it for the soft bird song and the susurrus of the forest far below her. The air is dynamic and alive, dancing outside the wood-metal walls of the tower. She slowly opens the door to the platform that surrounds the cabin area. She leans on the railings, they desperately need replacing but Sam isn’t afraid she’ll fall.

She looks out over the mountains, it’s her job after all. Looking out for the faintest billow of smoke. It used to disturb her, reminding her of the fire which killed Mike and Ashley just as the tower itself reminded her of Matt and Emily, who never returned from their mission to find help. But she doesn’t feel like that anymore, she finds any reminders of her friends comforting more than anything else.

The terrible longing that her heart feels is somehow calmed when she’s alone in the mountains with nothing but the woods to keep her company. Occasionally she thinks she hears their voices singing in the wind. Once upon a time she wouldn’t have thought it possible but sometimes she really believes their spirits are with her always.

A slight vibration runs through Sam’s fingers and she glances around for the source of the movement. It’s a red squirrel, sitting only feet away from where she stands. It probably jumped down from the roof. It looks up, it’s tiny beady eyes smiling at her. It’s large for a red squirrel and the almost rectangular marks around it’s eyes seem unusual. She laughs as it toddles along towards her, what a beautiful creature. It doesn’t startle or run, instead stops next to her hand and Sam goes into her pocket where she keeps a stash of small nuts and seeds, an ancient habit.

It chatters at her as it grabs the food before retreating a short way from her. She dusts off the remains from her hands and smiles.

“You remind me of a friend I once had,” she says, “His name was Chris and he was a total goof ball.”

She shakes her head at the memory of him laughing at his own terrible jokes, him and Josh completing each other’s equally ridiculous sentences. She would stand with Ashley and look on, thinking one day they’d grow up but both secretly hoping they would stay the same forever. In some ways she got her wish, they won’t ever change, permanently frozen in death. The squirrel doesn’t reply, of course it didn’t, it’s a squirrel and a few seconds later it disappears off the side of the tower without looking back, never to be seen by human eyes again. Sam isn’t sad, things are as they should be out here far from civilisation, nature is in balance and the spirits are at peace.

She stretches, shivering slightly at the cold gust of wind that seems to run through her soul and into her bones. She re-enters the cabin and huddles in her thick warm blanket. The windows shudder and the sky begins to turn grey, the birds have stopped singing and the leaves tremble with their warning of the upcoming storm.

It doesn’t bother Sam, nothing ever bothers her. She revels in the unmitigated freedom of the great outdoors. Lightning flashes, followed by the rumble of thunder. She’ll need to watch out, lightning causes fires. The windows shake ominously as rain hammers on the roof, water is starting to leak into every orifice like blood from a stab wound. The papers are getting wet. She rushes to collect them and the metal structure groans and creaks under her heavy feet. Sam can’t hear it, but she can feel it through her legs and up through her body. She’s still not afraid, there is nothing to be afraid of.

The radio flashes, Sam makes her way over to it and turns it up loud.

“Are you alright up there Sam?” calls a voice, distorted by white noise.

“I’m fine, I’ll stay here and keep a look out,” she replies, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

“Alright, we’ll check in with you at dawn,” he says, “Martin out.”

Sam gazes out the window at the magnificent patterned sky. She can hear their calls, singing all around. They’re watching out for her, they always will be. Desperate to be closer to the storm, Sam exits the cabin and extends her arms, laughing. They sing to her, repeating her name again and again and again. Her laughter turns to tears, not sad tears but nostalgic ones. Each of their voices, their faces, their smells and touches, dancing just within grasp of her senses before being swept away by the wind of the storm.

She reaches out and tries to hold on. She’ll never let them go, and they’ll always be with her, up here. In the mountains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening too way too much Message to Bears. I'd recommend 'Snowdonia' also, it's a great track.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little story!


	2. Still Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Lisa Miskovsky song 'Still Alive' from Mirrors Edge. I've not actually played Mirrors Edge it just came up on my Spotify (I listen to a lot of game music) and it made me think of Jessica for some reason.

“Model, philanthropist and founder of the Painted Body Image Foundation. Here promoting her brand new, groundbreaking documentary, _The Blackwood Seven_. Please welcome, JESSICA RILEY!!”

Jessica takes a nervous breath as she steps out in front of the large live audience. She smiles widely and waves at the cheering crowd, desperately trying not to trip on her five inch heels. Her body con dress is threatening to ride up her legs but she carefully, smoothly, professionally, fixes it as she takes a seat on the gleaming red couch, crossing her legs confidently. Emma Morgan, the host of the show leans over to shake her hand. The crowd is still whooping, they love her. Once they’ve finally calmed down, Emma begins to speak, “So Jessica, it’s so nice to see you here today. Let’s cut right to the chase, your new documentary finally details how you got your scars, a long held secret. Could you tell us why you felt the need to tell your story now?”

“Well Emma, can I begin by saying how nice it is to see all these beautiful people here tonight!” the crowd goes wild, “ _The Blackwood Seven_ was probably the most personal project I’ve ever worked on. It tells the forgotten and lost story of ten teenagers and how two nights would destroy all of their lives. I felt like I had to tell this story, especially now with the news Bob Washington’s death circling the media. I owe it to my friends, who never made it off that mountain to tell this story and I owe it to myself, I was finally confident enough to go back and find out what happened that night and I wanted to share my success and confidence with everyone.”

“So we have some sneak peaks from the documentary which we are going to share and you’re going to talk us through them,” says Emma. Jessica takes a shuddering breath, she thought she was ready for this, she’s starting to worry she’s not but there’s no going back now. The two of them look up at the screens, fastened to the overhang above the audience. She anticipates the first clip. The photograph of the ten of them appears on the screen, their names appear in bright ruby red, slowly fading into the scene, like drying blood, Beth, Hannah, Matt, Chris, Ashley, Josh, Emily, Sam and lastly Mike. That is the order of their deaths according to the forensic teams. She doesn’t remember who’s idea it was to put them in that order but it seems wrong somehow. 

Her mind feels numb as she looks up at their happy, smiling faces. She misses them, so much. Emma is speaking again but Jessica can’t hear her through the loud screaming of her inaccessible memories. Her only memory of that night,  after being in the cabin with Mike, is walking out of the mouth of that cave, in more pain than she had ever imagined possible, watching the sun rise over a burning lodge.  She has to get her shit together and speak.

“The documentary is split into eight sections,” she says, trying to sound sombrely enthusiastic, “The first tells the story of Beth and Hannah and the terrible prank that started it all as well as my own memories and regrets. The other seven are the individual stories of the seven others, _The Blackwood Seven_ _,_ which concludes in a full picture of what we believe happened to my friends that night.”

Jessica falls silent, the lights in the studio are too bright, the crowd too silent, the horrible almost human screeching too loud. Emma clearly notices her discomfort and puts a hand on her shoulder to calm her. It doesn’t work, though Jessica appreciates the gesture.

“Shall we move on? This next clip is from the section focusing on Emily Davis,” says Emma. The screen changes and a short montage of pictures of Emily plays. Jessica’s in most of the photos, before their fight, it was almost impossible to get a photo where they weren’t together. The clip ends and when Jessica remains silent, Emma prompts her, “So could you tells us a bit about Emily?”

“Emily was my best friend for many many years,” says Jessica, “She was a fashion queen, she had this incredible temper and she was really easily offended but she was also one of the most fun people to be around. She was- She was an amazing person, a really really strong person…” She trails off, there’s nothing more to say. “She, Mike and Sam almost made it,” she adds quietly.

The documentary has been well advertised as ‘not for children’ but from the looks on the faces of the audience, none of them had really expected this when they came out this evening. Then again no one expects to be told the story of the horrific and gruesome deaths of nine teenagers.

“The last time I ever saw her I screamed at her,” says Jessica, she’s going off script now, “I sometimes see her face when I close my eyes, her anger, her hate. I remember brushing it off, she’d get over it, I stole her boyfriend you see… I thought we’d be friends again but she- She died hating me.” 

Jessica smiles then, trying to stop the tears from falling. Emma joins her off script and stands up to hug her. It’s a beautiful moment of evening time television.  She sobs into this comfortable stranger’s shoulder, having no one else to cry with. She’s spent years holding it all in, this project, this documentary, was supposed to allow her to move on. Not to forget but to leave it behind her, allow her to get on with her life, to make friends again without being afraid they would be ripped from her, to sleep without the distorted shouts of Mike calling her name, the screams that sound horribly like Matt echoing through her mind. Doesn’t she finally deserve peace?

“I didn’t deserve to be the one who lived,” says Jessica, the words falling from her mouth without thinking, “It should’ve been Matt or Josh… Sam… Even Ashley or Chris. It certainly shouldn’t have been me and yet here I stand before all of you this evening and I’m making the most of the life that was given to me and not them. I won’t apologise for surviving but _that_ is why this documentary is so important, it tells the stories of people who can’t tell them for themselves. They deserve to be remembered, they deserve to never be forgotten.” 

The applause starts tentatively, almost like they aren’t sure if it is the right thing to do, but it soon increases to a roar. Not a roar of adoration, or love but a roar of solidarity. The screen turns back to the smiling photo of the ten of them, all together, happy. As Jessica looks out over the crowd she can almost pretend they are there, all of them. Standing, just standing, knowing that they aren’t gone, not really. They’re still alive… Somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to write Ashley's next... Maybe Chris'. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story!


	3. Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this chapter features death. (I know all of them do but this one is much more death focused)

He’s fine, he’ll be fine. That’s what I told myself every time he did this. He used to disappear alone for hours on end at seemingly random times. Sometimes he’d go for months without leaving, sometimes it was an almost daily affair. At first I thought he was cheating on me but I couldn’t believe Chris would do that to me, then again no one really thinks that about their husbands do they? Anyway, I decided I’d just ask him.

He sat me down, lit a fire which made him shiver and took my hand. He had a very particular way of taking someone’s hand, softly but firmly, the sort of way that says ‘I’ll protect you’. And he told me about _Ashley_ , and I know what you’re thinking ‘Sasha, he was cheating on you…’ but he wasn’t. Maybe you’ve heard of Ashley, maybe you haven’t but after that day he talked about her a lot.

I wished I’d met her, she sounded like a blast if not a little clingy. She meant a lot to Chris, probably more than I ever did but I found it didn’t actually bother me. To me it was just proof of how loyal a person my husband was.

One time, about a year after that first conversation Chris took me with him when he disappeared, that was when I found out about the others. He took me round to strangers’ houses, the Giddings, the Taylors and the Davis-es. There were others but he never got a reply when he knocked. It seemed like he’d tried their doors many times before. The Giddings welcomed Chris with open arms like an old friend, we had tea and they asked about me and how our life was going. The Taylors were similar though slightly less warm perhaps. Nothing compared to the Davis-es, I swear I’ve never been in a more cold house in my life. They cried when they saw Chris, just broke right down on the doorstep.

Then we went to a graveyard where we were met by an ageing woman. I recognised her instantly, she looked almost exactly like the photos I’d seen of Ashley, but older, much older, this was her mother. She sat by a beautifully tended grave stone, decorated with flowers and candles. The inscription read, ‘ _Here lies Ashley. Beloved friend and daughter. We light candles so you may never be in the dark_ ’. That’s when Chris cried, for the first time that day he fell to his knees and wept. I felt like an intruder in that moment, standing back from these two people who share this person, this Ashley.

I visited the families with Chris many times over the years. I went to their funerals, I babysat their children’s children, except the Davis’ of course, they only had _one_ child, but I never saw Mrs Brown again, I never went back to that grave. Chris had to have that for himself; just him, Mrs Brown and _Ashley_. Still I found myself lighting candles while he was away. I felt, and still feel, that Ashley occupied a part of my life, part of my heart. How could she not when she was so important to Chris?

He never actually told me what happened to his friends, I didn’t ask. How could I? It’s impossible to sit and listen to a story like that. I know bits and pieces, but the only person who knew the entire story was Chris, so it’s gone now. If there is a heaven, I hope Chris finds Ashley. I know that sounds strange but there is nothing that would make my heart happier than to know they are together.

***

Silence clings to the room and Sasha wipes the tears from her eyes. The door quietly opens and she sees a woman leave, a flash of orange hair. _Ashley?_ But that’s impossible. She smiles out over the crowd, her tears flowing from her eyes as she gets down from the platform and retakes her seat in the front row. The people around her whisper their support, pat her back and hug her but in that moment she doesn’t want anyone but Chris but she knows she’ll never see him again. 

She finally understands him. She was with him for ten years, he left her with two young children and an excitable puppy but this is the first time she’s ever truly understood him. His loss, his pain. The pain he held on to for all those years. It’s a hopeless pain… He’s gone for good this time and he’s never coming back. 

Chris is buried next to Ashley, that was her idea but she didn’t tell anyone why that place was so important. She visits often, sometimes her brings the kids. She keeps both graves tidy and clean, making sure to light candles. They’re very important, the candles. They keep away the dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tried to do something different with this one and I think it's my favourite so far. It's meant to be Chris' but it features quite a lot of Ashley I know. I just ship them so so much!
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Also happy valentines!


	4. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - There is more swearing in this than the others have.

The poster had fallen, or had been ripped, from the board. Now, it lies soaking in the puddle below. Matt crouches down to pick it up and grimaces when he sees it has already been graffitied, he only put it up this morning. Another useless day of handing out posters and asking questions to uncaring strangers. No one gives two shits, they really don’t. The Sheriff tolerates him but he knows she gave up years ago.

He can’t seem to get to his feet so he stays there, heavily sitting backwards. He’s wet but it doesn’t matter, his clothes were already ruined. He looks down at the poster he holds in his hands. It’s exactly the same as the one from last year and the one before, the only change is the age, ‘ _would now be 22_ ’. He clutches the poster to his chest, unable to bare looking at her face any longer.

“Hey!” calls a stern voice. Matt looks up, snapped out his daze. A woman stands over him, she’s old but anything but frail. She’s holding a brush in her hands and looks almost as if she’s gonna hit him with it. He scrambles to his feet, voicing hasty apologies.

“Non o’ that kid,” she says, “You’re gonna freeze out here, come in for a cuppa.”

She doesn’t give him much of a choice, something about her strange way of talking makes her seem oddly trustworthy. She leads him into the front of a nearby closed coffee shop which he assumes she owns and she sits him down, shoving a towel in his face, “Dry.”

Matt feebly wipes his arms, in a attempt to soak up some of the water. The old woman sits down across from his with two cups of tea, one of which she pushes towards him. He accepts it gratefully and sips the hot liquid.

“Now kid,” she says, “Imma nosy ol’ thing and I’ve sin you here once a year fir the past few years handin’ out those there posters. Who was she? Yer girlfriend?”

Matt almost spits into his cup, his hands shake slightly as he lowers the drink to the table, shaking his head, “N-no… She _is_ a friend.”

The woman takes the still soaking poster and looks at the picture printed there, and sighs with a sad, almost pitying smile, “What a lovely lookin’ young woman she was. She’s bin gone all these years kid, why’d you think she’s still alive?”

“Because if she’s not, then I’m alone,” says Matt, not quite sure why he’s spilling his soul out to a stranger.

“Yer not alone kid,” the woman says, “There are other people y’know? _Alive_ people.”

“No,” says Matt, “They found all the others.”

The woman looks at him curiously, her head slightly to the side, “You ‘ave a story to tell?”

Matt clears his throat, it’s been slowly filling with that gunk you get before you start crying. He doesn’t usually like to talk about Blackwood, it upsets people, but this woman is almost literally asking for it. His words come out shuddery, tumbling over each other like leaves caught in a storm.

“I- There was an- an _Incident_ , involving me and my friends. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, they call it the _Blackwood Disaster_. I never found out the whole story, couldn’t handle it, but I did force them to tell me what happened to my friends…

They found Sam first- They thought she died in the fire but she’d actually been impaled through her abdomen, minutes before hand. Mike was there too, similar injuries to his stomach though they think he did actually die in the fire… Ash- God. Poor Ash… She was the worst, she was stabbed in her eyes.

They found Josh and Chris after some time in the mines, Chris had been beheaded and Josh’s skull had been crushed… Both of their bodies were partially- _eaten,_ ” he pauses, collecting his breath, “Emily… My girlfriend- She was shot… The evidence points to one of the others but I don’t believe it, sure Emily could be irritating but they wouldn’t- They _couldn’t_ none of them…

But they never found Jessica. They never _fucking_ found her. They found a body sure, but it was old and too badly screwed up to make an identification. That means she could still be out there- In the cold, maybe the dark. Or she could be a fucking model in fucking New York! But I’ll find her because she’s not dead. She’s not fucking dead!”

Matt has to get angry. Anger is irrational, it allows him to stay deluded. He may know exactly how his friends died in gory, gruesome detail. He may have played those scenes through his head, once, twice, a hundred times, watching each of them scream in pain before falling limp and cold. But he’s never actually taken the time to mourn them. How could he when Jessica is out there just waiting for him to find her?

“She’s gone kid,” the woman says gently after a long silence. Matt meets her hard, honest gaze and he shakes his head, “No. No no no no no. I- No…”

But in his eyes, the anger as finally faded, replaced by the last strands of desperation. He blinks, trying to hold back tears. If he cries for her then she’ll really be gone. He whispers unintelligibly. He wants to go back, he wants the anger, the guilt at not finding her, the reason not to mourn. But it’s all like fine sand slipping through his fingers, no matter how hard he tries to hold on it’s falling away, leaving him with a handful of painful nothingness.

A single tear manages to loosen itself from the corner of his eye and begins to trickle down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Matt, he just seems like such a nice guy.


	5. I'll Take the Stairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The italics are supposed to be memories... I'm not sure how well this worked but here you go!

Emily looks up from her stacks of paperwork at the sound of a brisk, excited and extremely unprofessional knock on the door. It’s seven thirty, most people left hours ago but she just wanted to get a few things done and one thing lead to another. It’s alright, her sister is looking after Layla tonight. She is isn’t she? A momentary wave of panic runs through Emily as she fumbles with her phone bringing up her text conversation with her sister to confirm but it’s fine, she’s with Layla. They’re probably having a great time. Whoever is at the door knocks again. She’d totally forgotten about them.

“Hello?” she calls out, she’s suspicious, she thought she was the only one here. She tenses as the door cranks open-

‘- _Josh? Jess? It’s not Jess… Sorry man…-_ ’

-to reveal,  Catherine. She sidles up to Emily’s desk at takes a seat right in the way, like an attention seeking cat.

‘ _-Cat… Y’know because she CAThrine?-’_

“E-mi-leeeeeee!” she complains, “Why are you still here? It’s like the middle of the night. Don’t you have a life?”

“I was just finishing a few things. Bigger question, what are _you_ doing here? I don’t think you’ve worked overtime a day in your life.”

“Damn, I forgot how mean you are,” says Catherine, a childish pout on her face, “But I’m here to invite you to girls’ night.”

‘ _-Girls’ Night! Seriously Jess? You said anything…-’_

Girls’ night is a monthly tradition of Emily and her friends where they walk Chicago’s streets and buy crap from 24 hour department stores. It sounds lame but it really is quite enjoyable. 

“Okay, couldn’t you have just done that over text?” asks Emily as she reaches for her calendar.

“I could’ve but it’s easier if you just come now.”

“What do you mean?” asks Emily. 

“Everyone’s here,” says Catherine simply, “So if you _don’t_ come then you’re disappointing us all.”

Emily scowls, this is exactly the sort of thing she should expect of Catherine. She has this kind of spontaneity that drives her insane but it does force her to actually get out and do stuff. Ever since Layla was born, Emily has struggled to figure out a good work/life balance. Catherine likes to check in from time to time, popping in and out of her life to make sure she’s doing alright. 

“I don’t have anything to wear,” Emily says, annoyingly unable to come up with a better excuse. Catherine, predictably, laughs, “I brought you a nice dress, don’t worry, I know your taste.”

Emily hesitates for another few seconds before she relents, “Okay, fine whatever.”

Catherine squeal and claps her hands. Grabbing Emily by the arm and dragging her from the office. The others mull around the corridor outside and Emily wonders how she didn’t hear them coming up, the stairs echo like a bitch. They all beam at her as she comes out of the office. A dress bag in thrust into her arms by a young woman she doesn’t recognise.

“This is Milly,” explains Catherine, “She’s new.”

Emily tries to hold out a hand to shake Milly’s but she’s quickly hurried away to get dressed. Suddenly alone in a dark bathroom, Emily waves her hand to activate the motion sensors and opens the dress bag. It’s a really beautiful dress, Catherine really does know her style but-

‘- _What is that? Ash… Em… oh my God oh my God oh my God! Oh no, oh no, oh no!-’_

-it’s off the wrong shoulder. Emily has a choice, she could run, hide, leave, or she could put on the damned dress, the others will ask her where she got her scar, she’ll lie and they’ll forget about it and have a good night. She sighs before getting changed.

She looks at herself in the mirror, grimacing at her reflection. She doesn’t look at what remains of her injury often, it brings back bad memories. Her muscles never healed properly and she’s left with a disfigured, discoloured mass on her shoulder where that _thing_ bit into her. She smiles, she took a long time to get to this point in her life and now she’s going to take another step. No one is going to know what a big deal it is except her but that doesn’t matter, this is for her.

She takes a breath and walks out of the bathroom. As predicted, her friends are shocked by the scar.

“Woah,” says Paula, the youngest of their group. She’s gently elbowed by Catherine who’s trying to get her to shut up but Emily smiles at them, “It’s fine, better you ask questions now than wonder about it all night.”

Emily had been expecting everyone to keep their mouths shut but apparently not. “Does it hurt?” Paula blurts out, earning her another elbow to the side.

“Yes, but not much,” says Emily, “Anything else?”

Paula goes to speak again but Catherine clamps a hand over her mouth, “Shall we get going?”

The group quickly head out the door and Milly, poor naive Milly, makes a beeline for the elevator. The doors open and Emily freezes, “I’ll-”

“Take the stairs,” the others finish her sentence causing them all to laugh. Milly glances around in confusion.

“You can use the elevator if you want,” says Emily, “But we usually use the stairs.”

Before anyone can stop her Milly asks the dreaded question, “Why?”

Emily takes a deep breath, new people are always hard for her. They all think she’s just dramatic and exaggerating her fear. Her older friends, they’ve all made this mistake themselves. Catherine has even seen her in an elevator before, which isn’t a pleasant sight.

“It’s a phobia,” says Emily, “I had an accident when I was a teenager.”

She hasn’t told any of her friends about Blackwood, they don’t need to know. They know something happened, they now know about her shoulder but they won’t ask her, or press her, for what happened. That’s just the kind of people she’s friends with, they accept that some things have to be kept private, locked away. Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two to go... Mike and Ash.


	6. Surreality

“Well… It’s very well written,” he says as he places the draft on the desk between them. That’s not quite the response Ashley had been hoping for but she hadn’t expected any more.

“But?” she prompts.

“We publish _true_ stories here Miss Brown,” his voice tinged with condescension, “This tale of monsters and ‘psychos’, you haven’t even tried to make it believable. And even if we were to think this was a metaphorical version of the truth, it indicates you in the deaths of six of your friends. Assuming you based the ‘Ashley’ character and sole survivor off yourself.”

“Yeah well maybe they were metaphorical friends,” says Ashley narrowing her eyes. She has to get this story out, there is nothing more important in the world to her. The man laughs, but he looks nervous, “Good, good, I wouldn’t want a nice young woman such as yourself getting in any trouble.”

Ashley tries to relax her expression, she finds that she has a negative effect on most people nowadays. It’s almost as if they can see the blood that stains her hands, god knows she can.

“So, about the book,” Ashley says, pushing the draft back towards the man.

“We- We’ll consider it Miss Brown,” he says, standing up hastily as if he means to leave, “It was great meeting you.”

He looks like he’s about to try and shake her hand but he thinks better of it. Ashley nods, smiling and leaves the room without another word.

***

It’s a few days later when she gets an unexpected house call. The woman standing on her doorstep is a stranger though she certainly knows Ashley whoever she is. She smiles but it’s cold, calculating, as if she’s trying to read something in her face that’s long since faded. Ashley was once a very open person, her face would change like the wind alongside her emotions but not anymore. Perhaps it’s because she’s got better at hiding it, perhaps it’s because she doesn’t feel anything anymore. If she truly allowed herself to, she doesn’t think she’d be able to take it.

“Can I come in Ashley?” asks the woman. Ashley holds the door open but says nothing. She doesn’t have guests often. Her parents used to visit, then they used to call, now she gets a card on her birthday and sometimes on Christmas. She can’t complain though, they pay her bills.

The woman walks with confidence, taking a seat on the only chair in the tiny apartment. Ashley leans against the counter, still not saying anything.

“Do you know why I’m here Ashley?”

“I don’t know who you are.”

The woman smiles again but this time it’s sad, more than sad, pitying, “My name is Annie Cline, I’m the Sheriff up at Blackwood. Do you not remember me?”

“Blackwood? It’s a long way from Alberta…” says Ashley. Annie nods, “And you aren’t an easy person to find Ashley. It’s been a while since we last spoke, how have you been?”

“I don’t remember you,” she says, ignoring the question, “Why don’t I remember you? Did we actually speak?”

“We did Ashley,” says Annie, “On multiple occasions in fact. Maybe you don’t remember me, but do you remember this?”

Annie goes into her bag and passes Ashley a document. She skims the first few lines, this she does recognise. It’s the agreement she was forced to sign after the incident, that said no one will press charges against her so long as she kept the story quiet.

“Uh huh,” says Annie nodding, “You do, don’t you. So… Maybe you know why I’m here.”

“Because I can claim various amounts of responsibility for six, maybe seven, deaths,” says Ashley, not even flinching, “I’m surprised you didn’t come sooner.”

“We had a deal,” says Annie, her own eyes narrowing. She remembers her now. This is the woman who scared her into signing this document, she’s the woman who threatened her, who told her how evil she was and that she’d get punished is she didn’t stay quiet. Ashley was young then, and frightened. She’d just lost everything and she was blaming herself, but she’s not that person anymore.

“And I’m surprised the number is so high,” Annie adds, “Of course Beth and Hannah were a given, Emily probably would’ve been shot with our without your help but your being there probably made things worse and Chris…? Well… That was just cold blooded. But who were the others? Was there something you didn’t tell us Ashley Brown?”

The way she says those names, they slip off her lips so easily. The sounds thump around inside Ashley’s skull and it’s all she can do not to scream. Did she come here to torture her? It doesn’t seem impossible, “Sam and Mike. They both risked their lives for me in those last few minutes and I was the only one to make it out…”

“But that wasn’t your fault honey,” says Annie, in a voice so sweet it’s sickening, “You were lost, scared… _Confused_. Do you really remember what happened that night? It was such a blur, you don’t even remember me and we spent _some_ time together Ashley.”

“How did you even know I was trying to publish?” Ashley asks through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I have my ways,” she says, “I guess your detective novels haven’t taught you everything.”

“What do you want with me?” Ashley begrudgingly asks.

“I want you to go back to everyone you’ve shown that book and tell them it’s a work of fiction and then I want you to delete it and never, _ever_ , mention Blackwood again. We don’t need you stirring up trouble. You’ll regret it if you do.”

“And if I refuse?” asks Ashley. There is no way she’s going to destroy her writing, it took her too long, it took too much effort for it to be destroyed. She searched the depths of her broken memory for those words and there is no way she’s going to let the world think her friends’ deaths were tragic accidents any longer. She has the ability to let people know the truth, it’ll destroy her but she doesn’t care. Her friends deserve to be remembered as they were, not by a web of lies spun by terrified politicians, too scared to confront the truth.

Annie sighs loudly, “Why did it have to be you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who survived,” says Annie, she sounds tired now, bored even, “The others would’ve been so much easier to keep quiet, but you are so _incorrigible._ Give up Ashley! No one is going to believe you! You hardly even believe yourself!”

“Make me!” screams Ashley. 

***

That’s when Annie draws a gun. What the fuck sort of crazy… She doesn’t have time to think as she throws a plate, hitting Annie across the shoulder, and ducks behind the counter, she has to move quickly. She takes out her phone and surfs to her blog page where her entire story lies waiting to be posted. She waits for another second, hesitating but hits the post button and it’s gone, out there into the net, never to be erased. She smiles then and relaxes, closing her eyes, waiting for Annie to get her.

***

When she opens her eyes, Annie is gone. A stranger is kneeling over her, shaking her shoulders. Ashley frowns, maybe she’s dead but then again maybe not. The stranger is suddenly her neighbour, Charlie, and she smiles, trying to sit up.  He stops her, gently holding her in place telling her to stay still.

“It’s okay Ashley,” he says, “Everything is okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ashley... I love her so much...
> 
> It was this story idea that made me start writing this and came from the song 'Read All About It' but it kinda changed and stuff so I didn't want to give it that title...


	7. Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mike. Mike. Mike. Mike...

“Hi there, I’m Mr Munroe and I’m going to be teaching you from now on,” Mike says as he strides into the classroom.

“Why’s your voice so funny?” asks one kid in the front. He has a terrible hair cut and his shirt is untucked. Mike smiles, he’s used to the questions. Do British kids not watch American TV anymore?

“I’m from the US,” he says and they gasp, “Right, any more questions before we get started?” He thought they’d just let him get on with it, but no.

“If you’re from America, how can you teach us English?” asks another kid. Mike wants to laugh but reminds himself that they are literally seven year olds so being stupid is kinda on the requirements list.

“They speak English in America, stupid!” a kid says.

“I won’t have any of that sort of language in my classroom,” says Mike, “I’m going to do the register.”

He turns on the computer and looks at the list of names. His blood runs cold when he reads the first one, ‘Ashley Brown’. It’s not _that_ common of a name is it? He stares at it way too long before reading it out.

“Here sir.”

Okay, so apparently Ashley Brown is the annoying bad hair cut boy in the front. That’s… weird. The rest of the register goes by fine, like a normal register should. After all it’s just a list of names. Still he finds his hand uncontrollably shaking as he reaches for his white board pen to start the class.

The lesson goes fine. The class is a little rowdy though generally well behaved but they are so damn curious and that Ashley kid won’t stop asking questions. It’s only a matter of time before he asks the wrong one. He’s relieved when the bell rings for a twenty minute break, maybe the kids will tire themselves out a little.

It’s always hard for him starting at a new school, new people, new environment. Still, he doesn’t think he’ll last long here. A knock on his classroom door makes him jump slightly. A woman stands there holding two cups of coffee, “Hi! Hello. I didn’t mean to scare you. You’re new here so I thought I’d introduce myself, in case you were nervous about coming to the staff room.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Mike says coolly. He stands up and smiles his charming smile, “Michael Munroe.”

“Felicity Jones,” she says setting the coffee down and pushing one towards him. She takes a seat on one of the table and sips her own drink, “So how’s it going? Like the class?”

“Yeah, they’re pretty… Curious about stuff.”

Felicity laughs, it seems exaggerated and yet oddly genuine, “They’re kids! What did you expect?”

Mike shrugs sheepishly, he likes her, she seems nice, “I guess, I guess… There’s this one kid-”

“Ashley Brown?” she asks, “Talks a whole lot doesn’t he?”

“Oh, you know him… Yeah well,” Mike hesitates, “I knew someone called Ashley Brown back in the states. She was a, uh, well sort of a friend and-” God why is he telling this random stranger this? “-well she died. Right in front of me, eighteen years old, and it’s really fucking with my head.”

“Oh-My-God,” says Felicity, a proportionately shocked expression on her face, “I feel really bad now…”

“Why?”

“Well I was gonna ask about the hand and now I really don’t want to.”

Mike chuckles. Felicity is a funny sort of awkward, she’s honest, maybe too honest, and very straight to the point. She seems to say what comes to mind rather than what is socially acceptable.

“It’s fine, I caught it in a bear trap and had to cut off my fingers to escape.”

“Woah! That’s-” Felicity is smiling, “You’re so weird Michael… I mean- What _is_ your life? I’ve known you like two minutes and we’ve had death and DIY amputation.”

Mike knows it sounds bizarre, “You think I’m lying?”

“No, I don’t. I can tell when people are lying,” she says, “I’m sorry if I’m being insensitive, I’m not particularly, well, experienced in- Anything really.”

“Don’t worry about it,” says Mike, “I wasn’t either.”

The bell rings and Felicity leaves as the children return. It’s nice to have a bell that tells you where to be when. Mike enjoys the structure. The rest of the day goes by quickly, Ashley continues his barrage of questions but it doesn’t bother him quite so much as it did before, in fact he’s starting to like the kid.

At the end of the day, on his way out of the school, Felicity catches up to him, “Hey Mike! Can I call you Mike?”

“Sure.”

“I was wondering, there is an art exhibition going on in the museum this evening, which means the nearby pub will be basically empty, do you want to go? You can tell me more about your exciting and horrific life and I can tell you about my boring one?”

Mike is surprised by the request, but laughs, “Yeah sure. Here’s my number, just call me?”

He goes home, feeling suddenly exhausted. First days are like that. His mind quickly goes to his friends, his long _dead_ friends _,_ the ones he’s spent years running from.

He kicks off his shoes and lies back on his tiny sofa in his tiny flat. Cardboard boxes still lie around, yet to be unpacked. As if by some kind of magical force he stands up and opens one. Right on the top is a framed photograph. He’d wanted to get rid of it, just like he did with everything else that reminded him of, well any of them, but he couldn’t.

It’s a photo of the ten of them, everyone is laughing or smiling or pulling a funny face. Except Emily of course who’s scowling at Hannah who had just stood on her foot. Mike laughs at the memory, she’d gone on about it for hours afterwards, she was driving him and Jessica insane.

Since the incident he’s used his stories to impress men and women alike, twisted the tales, changed the details to make them more heroic, more interesting. He just wanted to forget the truth because with all the added gore, with all the added horror, he always removed the bits he hurt his friends. He ran fast enough to save Jessica, he didn’t even consider shooting Emily, he didn’t run off causing Sam to come after him. They all still died of course, nothing he could do about the end of the story, but it’s okay to try and persuade yourself that you deserved to live. Right?

Half way across the world and he’s confronted with a kid called Ashley and a woman who is scarily like Jessica. It’s like the universe won’t let him get away.

His depressing musings are disturbed by a text message coming in. It’s from Felicity, ‘just checking, if she got the right number’. He makes a decision then as he reads the text, whatever he tells Felicity, it’ll be the truth. He’s made a life of lies, ran away from everything he knew in order to forget, but that’s not an option anymore. The truth follows him like a horrible shadow and he has to submit to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last one. I struggle to write Mike, his confident flirtiness while still being a pretty decent guy... I hope it's alright... I defo didn't save the best till last though. I thought Mike would probably, being the sole survivor, suppress the hell out of it and he'd need someone to help him confront his past. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed anyway! 
> 
> I'm working on some other stuff for this fandom (I'm obsessed and I have wayyy too much time on my hands). I love all these characters and I can't wait to write more (also including Josh and the twins because I love them too!!) 
> 
> Anyway, yeah, thanks for reading and I hope y'all are having a nice day!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make my day, especially with covid :)


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